


Honour Bound

by NadiaHart



Series: String Theory [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Brat Dean, Cas drives a Vintage Car, Cuddles, Cute Dean Winchester, Dean in Panties, Dean-Centric, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Frottage, Gentle Dom Castiel, Light Bondage, M/M, Panties, Praise Kink, Public Scene, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Submission, Sub Dean Winchester, Texting, Waffles, mild panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/pseuds/NadiaHart
Summary: The Universe apparently has plans for Dean Winchester.This comes as a surprise to him. Really, it does. And, while he’s not opposed to taking charge of his life and going after what he wants, sometimes it does take a push from—well—the universe to get him moving. So, while all the signs point to a certain blue eyed Dom with a penchant for waistcoats, that doesn’t mean Dean won’t play the game a little. No sense in making it easy on Castiel, the Universe, or—clearly—himself.Someone should warn him, though, no one likes a naughty tease. But even if they do, Dean’s positive he would not listen. He doesn't do things the easy way, and, honestly, something good isboundto come out of it... eventually.





	Honour Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Friends!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, thank you for waiting. Here is the new installment of the [ String Theory](http://archiveofourown.org/series/764556) verse. This is part two. I would recommend you read [ Cats Cradle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11413590) first, or you will be a little lost in this fic. 
> 
> I just really need to thank my Beta [Bella](https://izabelluhroze.tumblr.com/) who kept me on track, encouraged me, gave insightful suggestions, and pushed me to keep writing. She continuously gives the most delightfully devious and sinful prompts for this AU. Thank you my friend, I truly appreciate you. Read her fics here [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_fandom_fluff/profile)
> 
> And my Alpha [maskofcognito](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskofCognito/pseuds/MaskofCognito) who completely out of the blue and out of the goodness of his editor heart, decided to edit all 44 pages and 18400 words of this fic. He didn't even know me when we started but we are solid friends now. I am so eternally thankful for his advice and for trying to teach me how, when, and where to use a comma. I still don't get it maskofcognito, I'm sorry. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Now onto the fic!**

 

**)o(**

 

The lady who lived in the apartment above his was screaming again; the shrill sound was chased by a herd of tiny feet fleeing the noise. Dean rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock on his computer desk—8:45 am. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he groaned. When he finally stumbled into his apartment, sometime north of 3am last night, he’d planned to sleep until he became one with his bed.  Dean didn’t have to be back at the bar until 4pm, and he didn’t have to be at Jiffy Lube at all today. He had really been hoping to catch up on some of the sleep he’d been missing recently. Unfortunately for him, it seemed school was out, and Mrs. Upstairs Neighbor was having trouble wrangling her four kids.

Sliding from his bed, the busted springs squeaked as his weight left them. Dean stretched, lifting his arms high above his head. His back gave several satisfying cracks. With a deep yawn Dean grabbed his toothbrush, face wash, and a towel before he wandered out of his apartment to the communal bathroom.

“Hey, Dean,” Kevin yawned into the mirror as Dean sidled up beside him. He looked just as tired as Dean. Bags hung under the younger man’s eyes, and his shaggy hair was limp and dull.

Dean grunted his hello and set about scrubbing his teeth clean.

“Mrs. Upstairs and her 4 of a kind?” Kevin asked as he spit, dipping his head to take water from the tap.

“Uh huh,” Dean mumbled. He spit and rinsed, as well. Picking up his face wash he scrubbed the last dredges of sleep from his skin; there was no going back now. Plus, he had shit to do.

“I’m at the coffee house from ten to six today.” Kevin sleepily patted Dean on the shoulder as he shuffled out of the bathroom. Dean rubbed his face dry, watching Kevin’s retreating form in the mirror.

Since the kid’s mom had passed last year, Kevin had thrown himself into distractions: work and school, work and school, and living in this shitty complex with lost souls like Dean. Kevin wasn’t like them, though. The kid was going places, if he didn’t work himself to exhaustion first.

Dean shook his head. Maybe he’d take Kevin out, do something nice for the kid. Dean knew all too well what it was like to lose your parents at a young age. Dean had Sammy, though. Kevin was all on his own.

Wandering back into his apartment, feeling fresher—if not more awake, Dean dropped his bathroom kit on the floor before blindly groping in the top drawer of his dresser for some boxers. His fingers bashed into the cheap plywood at the drawers bottom, sliding around until he realized it was completely picked clean.

“Shit.”

Dean glanced at the classic car calendar hanging by his desk. Laundry day was three days ago, he’d been so busy he’d missed it. Cursing his bad luck, he pulled out a pair of black lace boy shorts, and shimmied into them. He grabbed the first pair of jeans he could find, along with the cleanest smelling t-shirt not discarded on the floor. At least this one had been tossed over his desk chair. Most of his clothes had made it into the laundry basket, though. When your entire apartment was the size of someone's closet, it didn’t afford a lot of room to be messy. Grabbing the basket and his essentials, he trudged out of his apartment without a second glance.

 

**)o(**

 

“Dean!”

“Hey, Margo.” Dean grunted as he dropped his laundry basket on the ground in front of a washer.

“I was getting worried. Isn’t laundry day normally Wednesday?” Margo asked, her Spanish accent heavy in her mouth.

Dean heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I just-- lost track of the days, I guess.”

“Acht, my sweet boy,” Margo stepped between Dean and his laundry basket. Her age-withered, laundry-soft hands cupped his jaw. Milky grey eyes met his and Dean felt her gazing right into his soul. She gave a small smile. “You work too much; you need to take better care of yourself. Pretty boy. You need someone to show you what love is.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Margo pulled the shirt from his hands. Tossing it into the open mouth of the washing machine, she clucked her tongue. “No, no, no, go sit. Relax.”

“Margo…” Dean complained.

“Acht, please. Go sit. Give this old woman something nice to look at for a little while.” Margo patted Dean’s cheek before turning to his laundry basket. “Oh!” She clapped her withered hands, a light coming to her eyes. She shuffled—with quick little steps—over to the register, returning with an old battered book. “Here. This is the writer you enjoy, yes?”

Margo handed him the book. Two claw-fingered hands tangled up with string, below a burst of golden yellow, adorned the cover. ‘Cat’s Cradle’ was printed in large black block text across the top.

Dean’s mind faltered, bringing him back to the club—back to crystal blue eyes and wide, strong palms; the beauty of his pain, and the warm ache had long faded from his backside. It brought him back to being wrapped up and cared for: being embraced by strong arms, pressed against a broad chest, fingers in his hair, and pleasant words filling his ears.

“Dean?” Margo’s voice, a gentle kindness, pulled him from his memories. Dean gave her his most dazzling smile.

“Yeah, thanks, Margo. This is exactly what I needed.” Dean patted the book against his open palm.

This didn’t mean anything. It didn't. Sure, Dean had been thinking about—ok, he'd been obsessing over—his scene with Seraph- Castiel. He’d flipped that little business card over, and over, in his fingers so many times it was going fuzzy around the edges. Still, he hadn’t called. He couldn’t bring himself to dial the number, though he’d gotten close once or twice. Punching the numbers in, his finger always stopped, hovering over the send button.

Dean grunted, dropping heavily into a molded plastic chair. He kicked his feet out, crossing them at the ankle, and stared at the battered little book in his lap. This wasn’t a sign to contact Castiel. It wasn’t. He wouldn't let himself believe that it was. These sorts of things happened in threes, didn’t they?

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

 **Bitch** [10:32 AM]  Hey Dean, dinner tonight? Eileen's making a roast and biscuits.

 **ME** [10:32 AM]  You mean the homemade buttermilk and honey biscuits?!

 **Bitch** [10:33 AM]  Yeah, you coming?

Dean groaned, his head rolling back as he shut his eyes. Of course, Eileen would be making his favorite non-pie baked food the night he’s unavailable. Not that he was ever usually available, anyway.

 **ME** [10:33 AM]  Can’t. Working the closing shift at the bar.

 **Bitch** [10:34 AM]  Seriously?! That's three times in the last two weeks! You really work too much, Dean. It’s not healthy! You need to do something for yourself once in awhile, something other than work! Seriously, we miss you.

Dean read through the message twice. He could see Sam’s patented, ‘Bitch Face number 4,’ the incredulous and sympathetically annoyed one. He sighed. Not everyone was a successful lawyer, on track to make partner in the next three years. Anger bubbled up in Dean’s stomach; his fingers hovered of the keyboard to tell Sam exactly that.

_We miss you._

Dean sighed, deflating like a punctured balloon.

 **ME** [10:37 AM]  Yeah, I miss you guys too. I’ll let you know the next time I’ve got a day off.

 **Bitch** [10:37 AM]  Great! I’m serious Dean, do something good for yourself. You need to blow off some steam every once and awhile. I’m doing yoga if you ever want to come.

Dean snorted. Sammy _would_ take up yoga.

 **ME** [10:38 AM]  Yeah, right. Me...yoga?

 **Bitch** [10:38 AM] Ok, right. So not yoga, just promise me you’ll do something you like, something to help relieve all that stress you’re carrying around. You don’t have to hold the world up by yourself anymore!

Again, Dean’s mind went to his scene with Castiel—how, for days after, he’d felt light and calm. His coworkers had asked him, ‘what was up’ more than once; even Margo said he had smiled more. Dean scratched his nails roughly through his hair, frowning at his phone. Shit.

 **ME** [10:39 AM]  Ok, Dr. Phil, if I promise I’ll do something will you untwist your panties and stop nagging me?

 **Bitch** [10:39 AM]  Jerk.

 **ME** [10:39 AM]  Bitch.

Dean smiled at his phone. That's twice now, he thought; two times he’s been told to do something to relax, something he enjoys, to take time to care for himself. His smile faltered, transforming into a grimace. It didn’t matter—this was nothing. Anyway, signs came in threes, didn't they? He refused to believe the universe was trying to tell him something. Why would the universe care about Dean Winchester in the first place? The universe had other, much more pressing, concerns to deal with. Didn’t it?

“Dean?”

Margo’s voice was laced with concern.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Dean’s head snapped up. Margo was standing before him, his black skinny jeans in one hand, a little black and gold business card in the other.

Apparently, the universe did _not_ have anything better to do then meddle in Dean Winchester's life. He was absolutely certain he had left that business card on his desk, and not in the pocket of a pair of jeans he hadn't worn since that night at the club over two weeks ago.

“ _Okay_!” Dean groaned lifting his eyes to the ceiling. He hoped the someone up there knew what they were doing because he certainly didn't. Dean huffed as he pulled himself to his feet. “Okay.” He repeated more quietly. Evidently it was time for him to nut up.

Margo watched him with cautious eyes; holding the little card out in front of herself like an offering as Dean approached.

“Sorry, Margo.” He sighed, taking the card and flipping it between his fingers a few times. “No, I- I’m not in trouble. I made a new… friend.”

Margo’s face brightened. “Acht, yes, of course. My good boy.” She patted his cheek again before turning back to his laundry.

“I’ll be back Margo, I’m just going to … I’m gonna make a call.”

Margo hummed pleasantly as Dean slipped out the front door.

“Just do it, you pansy.” Dean scolded himself as, once again, he stood looking down at his phone, finger hovering over the send button. “One, two, three… ugh!” He closed his eyes and dropped his finger. A small ringing issued faintly from his phone. Dean drew a breath and brought the device up to his ear.

_Voicemail, voicemail, go to voicemail. If it goes to voicemail, you can just hang up, at least you tried._

“Garrison Law, this is Castiel.”

Dean’s nerves melted at the deep purr of Castiel's voice over the line, and almost immediately returned worse than before.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

_“_ Hello?”

“Hello? This is a private line, if you have business with the firm, please use the office’s main line. This number is not for general inquiries.”

Shit, right. He’s supposed to talk, not stand around like an ass with his foot in his mouth.

“Uh… Seraph…. I-I mean, um, Cas… Castiel?”

The line went quiet for so long; Dean pulled his phone away from his ear to make sure the call was still connected.

“Hunter?” Castiel’s voice growled through the line, low and deep. It brought Dean right back to their scene. His heart fluttered wildly, breath catching in his throat, and stomach swimming with nerves. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed that voice, or the effect it had had on him all night long. How Dean missed Castiel saying his name, even his scene name. Dean cleared his throat roughly, trying to pry his lips apart, to get his mouth working again.

“Yeah. Yes, Sir.” Dean licked his lips, the word Sir felt good on his tongue. It warmed him from the inside, calling Castiel Sir. It was right— it felt so unbelievably right. Dean wished he could have seen Castiel's face when he said it.

Castiel gave a pleased hum. “I see that my lesson has stuck with you,” He commented softly. “Hold on Hunter, give me just a moment.”

Dean couldn't hide his smile, this was fun; why had he waited so long to call? Already he was feeling better, lighter. There was something about this guy that made Dean feel alive. From the other end of the line, Dean could hear a brief, muffled, conversation, followed by the distinct sound of a door closing.

Castiel's voice came back on the line. “I am not going to lie. I did hope you would have called sooner.”

“Yeah… Sorry, Sir.” Dean said and was surprised at how much he meant it.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Hunter. You're calling now. I’m so pleased.” There was a short pause, as if Castiel was considering something. “You don’t have to call me Sir outside of our scenes.”

Dean blinked, the brightness of the summer sun heated his face. He definitely was _not_ blushing. “I, uh, actually... kinda like it. It… ugh… I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… It feels right.” Dean ran his free hand over his face, glancing around to make sure there was no one close enough to hear his conversation. The street was pretty deserted for a late Saturday afternoon.

Castiel's laughter tumbled over the line. “Does it now? I’m glad to hear that. Please, tell me you are calling because you’d like to see me again and not that you are in need of legal counsel. I would, of course, provide it, but I don’t enjoy being teased, Hunter. As you well remember.”

A tingle of excitement danced over Dean's skin, prickling like lightning on a hot summers night. Yes, he absolutely wanted to see Castiel again. His heart pulsed in his throat  just as his stomach dropped. Nerves and excitement battled inside of him. He decided, right then, to plunge head first into whatever this was going to become. Dean had done a lot of stupid shit in his twenty-eight years on this planet, but for some reason, he was certain this wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Dean.”

“Excuse me?”

“My names Dean.”

“Dean.” Castiel said his name like a dark whisper—secret, promise made, so final and complete—the hairs on Dean’s arm rose and he shivered, despite the heat of the day. In that one moment, Dean was sure of two things: one, he had been an idiot for waiting so long to call; and two, he was fully intent on holding Castiel to the esoteric promise the other man had turned his name into.

“Let me see you.” Castiel spoke after what felt like a long moment. The sound of papers shuffling and crinkling met Dean’s ear. “Tonight. Let me take you out someplace, anyplace. I can make reservations. Anywhere you want to go, Dean; anything you want. I just need-” Castiel cleared his throat, “I want to see you.”

Coming from anyone else, the plea would have sounded needy. It would have been a big red warning flag. But from Castiel, spoken in his measured even tone, it was anything but.

“Ah, I’m working tonight.” Dean rubbed the back of his head. He frowned down at his boots, toeing a small rock along the chipped and cracked sidewalk.

“Where?”

“Crossroads Bar and Grill.” Dean answered without giving much thought to whether he could trust Castiel or not, he just did. It was easy.

“When do you start?”

Dean checked his watch. It was closing in on lunch time, now. “Um, about four and a half hours from now.”

“Excellent.”

“Excellent?” Dean asked

“Absolutely.”

“What does that even mean?” He chuckled to hide his nervousness. Was Castiel coming to see him tonight, while he was at work? Was he going to sit at the bar and watch Dean with those eyes, studying him as he flirted and tried to make ends meet in tips? Was Castiel going to be there, at the bar—just out of reach, like some forbidden fruit—taunting and teasing Dean, all night long?

“Dean,” Castiel growled into the phone. “You have kept me waiting sixteen days. Sixteen very long, very boring, days. I refuse to wait another moment if I can avoid it. I will see you tonight. Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way.”

Dean huffed a breath. He had no doubt that Castiel would be respectful; he wasn’t worried about the other man. He was worried about his own ability to stay on task. Dean would need to make it through his shift without becoming distracted by Castiel’s steely gaze; he wasn’t known for his self-control.

“Dean?” Castiel spoke his name as both, a question, and a command.

“Yes, Sir. That’s fine. I’ll see you tonight.” Dean licked his lips.

“So good.” Castiel sighed softly into the receiver. “Until tonight, then.”  

The line went dead. Dean stared down at his phone until the screen went black. He pushed a button to revive it, and stared at the number some more. Before the screen could time out a second time, Dean clicked the ‘add new contact’ button and saved Castiel’s number. ‘Contact name: Sir.’

Dean felt a pleasant buzz of excitement. He pulled the business card out and added Castiel’s email address and company, Garrison Law Firm, as well. Clicking the save button, he had a sudden sense of finality. This was real.

Castiel might actually be interested in pursuing something with Dean that was so much more than an occasional fling. Not something snuck into a schedule, squeezed between meetings and business trips, as it had been before. There was a really chance here for things to finally be different. Dean was so tired of being a secret. He sighed, Castiel seemed the type to want to take him out, the other man had even said dinner, maybe they’d go on dates. Dean shook his head. No need to get to ahead of himself here, one step at a time. He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

This was real.

Dean smiled shoving his hands into his pockets, he tilted his head towards the sun. Maybe he’d stop by the coffee house and see Kevin before work. The kid did make the best caramel macchiato Dean had tasted. Not that he would ever tell anyone how much he enjoyed the sugary coffee drink. That was a secret between him and Kevin.

 

**)o(**

 

“Dean, get downstairs and set up another keg of the IPA, this one’s tapped.” Benny shouted over the live band.

Dean was standing behind the bar, tipped up onto the toes of his boots, to see into the the crowd better. It was inching past ten pm and still there was no sign of Castiel.

“Dean!” Benny shouted, again. The burly Cajun was fighting with the tap, foam sputtering over his hands as the keg emptied into a pint glass. Every time the glass frothed over he’d toss foamy slush into the bar sink. There were four or five people actively trying to get his attention; the rest seemed content to chat while they waited for their drinks. The bar was steadily approaching its max occupancy.

“Ok, ok!” Dean tossed his rag into the empty sink. He threw open the trap door and stomped down the stairs. The belly of the bar was always kept clean, bottles of beer, kegs, and all the surplus supplies were stored down here. Dean stomped over to the kegs, grabbing a hand truck on his way.

Dean was halfway through attaching the hose to the keg when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Finishing up with the keg Dean whipped his sticky hands on his jeans before fishing the device out of his pocket.

 **Sir:** [10:25pm] You’re very attractive when you pout. Did you know?

Dean breathed out a laugh through his nose. Castiel was here, the sneaky bastard. How long had he been here? How could Dean have missed him?

 **ME:** [10:32PM] Where are you? Why didn’t you come say hi?

 **Sir:** [10:32PM] I’m around. You looked busy. Plus, I wanted to see you, I can see you just fine from where I am.

 **ME:** [10:32pm] What if I wanna see you too?

 **Sir:** [10:33pm] I am sure you do. Why else would you be so desperately scanning the crowd every few minutes?

Dean scoffed. He wasn’t desperately scanning anything… was he? Sure he’d been looking, actively looking, for when Castiel would arrive. Sure, he’d planned, scrapped, and re-planned exactly what he was going to say to the other man, like, five times. OKAY, so he had messed up two, maybe three, drink orders because he had been too busy scanning the faces at the bar to really focus on what was being ordered.

Yes, alright.

He had been desperately scanning the crowd. Dean blew out a breath, making his lips flap as he ran a hand through his hair. He stared down at the text message. Well, then.

 **ME:** [10:34PM] I wasn’t desperately… anything…. Anyway, am I going to get to see you tonight or are you going to keep hiding?

Dean smirked as he hit send, excitement making him bounce on the balls of his feet. Dean decided to poke the sleeping tiger a bit, see if he can get Castiel to come to him by being a dick. Honestly though, Dean really did want to see Castiel. More than just because the guy was handsome, stupidly handsome. Dean needed to see Castiel. He needed to know if what he was feeling was real, or was it just inflated memories of a scene that, maybe, wasn’t as perfect as his mind kept insisting it was. Dean needed to be sure.

 **Sir:** [10:34PM] Dean, you waited well over two weeks to call me. I think you’ll survive a little longer.

Dean pouted, his lower lip jutting out as he frowned down at the message.

 **Sir:** [10:34PM] Don’t pout.

Dean barked a laugh, looking around the cellar as if Castiel would suddenly appear.

 **Sir:** [10:35PM] You should come back up soon, your friend looks overwhelmed.

Shit, Dean had completely forgotten about Benny, the bar, the drinks, everything. He made a small noise in the back of his throat—disappointment. He was disappointed because he wanted to keep texting Castiel. He didn’t want to go upstairs and work. He didn't want to flirt with nameless women and men for shitty tips. Dean sighed. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he checked the keg once more, ensuring that all the hoses were connected correctly. He strode over to the ladder.

“Benny? Tap it!”

“Yeah, brother, we’re flowing. Get back up here!”

Dean flipped the lights and took the rungs two at a time.

 

**)o(**

 

The band was well into their second set when Alfie appeared at the bar. Smiling, the younger man waved to get Dean’s attention. Dean gave a curt nod, quickly made a dirty Shirley Temple, adding two cherries and a slice of orange, before striding over to his friend.

Alfie took the drink and dropped a twenty on the bar. “Dean!” He shouted over the din.

“I didn't know you were going to be here tonight!” Dean called. Alfie smiled deviously into his drink. Dean took the twenty and dropped the change on the bar in front of Alfie.

“Me either!” Alfie grinned and pushed the change back towards Dean.

“Alfie, come on man.” Dean complained pushing the money back again.

“It’s not from me, Dean.” Alfie said with his biggest grin yet. He arched his brows and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m supposed to order a whiskey sour, on the rocks.”

Dean looked over Alfie’s shoulder, into the crowd. His eyes narrowed. Blurry faces and sweaty bodies writhed to the beat of the music. The lights swung around: spotlights, laser lights. And there against the wall, arms crossed and a slight smile tilting his lips, stood Castiel. And yep, this was real. Deal felt his stomach drop out and surge back up like a swarm of angry bees. His mouth went dry, and he licked at his lips, eyes fixed on the man he’d been fantasizing about for the past few weeks.

A rush of blood warmed his neck and face as, from across the room, Castiel’s eyes locked on his. They shined in the dull light, brighter than anything. Dean felt anticipation knot tightly in his chest. The corners of his lips lifted as he took in the strong features of Castiel’s face. A plan formed in his mind.

It was a conscious effort on Dean’s part to pull his gaze away. He was breathing hard, heart hammering in his ears as his eyes fell to Alfie. Alfie was popping a cherry into his mouth a knowing smile on his youthful face.

“He likes two lemons in his water.” Alfie hummed as he tossed the cherry stem onto the bar top.

Dean was already moving. Pulling out a pint glass, filling it with ice, topping it with water, two lemons, a straw.

“Tell him, Poughkeepsie. Green.” Dean breathed, excitement making his palms sweat, as he passed the glass to Alfie. The little sprite winked saucily, he took the glass, throwing a ‘you owe me’ and a ‘bride price’ over his shoulder as he weaved his way through the crowd.

“Bud light and a Bud Lime!” The guy who took Alfie spot at the bar shouted at Dean. He didn’t want to pry his eyes from Alfie’s lithe form as he drew closer and closer to his target.

“Helloooo!!!” The dude waved a ten in Dean’s face.

“Yeah, man.” Dean snapped, hands diving under the bar as he tried to keep tabs on Alfie.

Dean cursed, ducked down to snatch the bottles from the fridge below the bar, popping their tops with practiced ease, Dean slid the beers over the bar and accepted the guys sweaty ten. He looked up just in time to see Alfie hand the glass of water to Castiel, lean in close, and whisper in the older man’s ear.

Dean was too far away to really see Castiel's reaction, but the other man lifted the water glass in a cheers motion, drew out his smartphone, and held it up for Dean to see. Dean gave an exaggerated nod and a thumbs up, to which Alfie—who was still standing there watching the entire exchange—gave a huge animated roll of his eyes and slapped his palm to his forehead. The younger man said something to Castiel and wandered off.

He felt like his skin was on fire. The pocket of his jeans felt heavy where his phone sat, waiting for it to buzz against his thigh. Dean ran on autopilot: he made drinks, paid out, took tips, winked, smiled, hauled ice, cleaned glasses, and sweat. His shirt stuck to his back as the cotton soaked up everything his pores spit out. He was lost in the grind of his job. Absently, he thought about his tips from tonight and talking to Jo about having this band back again. They seemed to have a good following, and their fans weren’t total dick bags.

Dean was in the middle of mixing up a pear martini when it happened. His phone vibrated against his leg. He jumped, the shaker clattering to the well skink he was standing in front of. Luckily the top was still sealed, so he was able to salvage the drink. Passing it across the bar, he let the woman have it no charge as he rushed to pluck his phone from his pocket.

 

 **Sir:** [11:23PM] Bathroom. 10 minutes. Last stall.

 

Dean grinned, dropping his phone back into his pocket. It felt like a cool breeze blew past him, refreshing him. The anticipation revitalized him, a second wind surged through his system. He couldn’t pull the smile off his face. Dean nodded at the next person by the bar, he took orders and willed the minutes by faster. His foot tapped to the beat of the band, he slid beers across the bar, marked tabs, and made change. He glanced at his watch.

“Benny, takin’ twenty.” He shouted. Dean popped up a booted foot up onto a milk crate and gave a loud whistle “Jo, cover me!” Jo waved back with a nod, and she made her way towards the bar. Dean slipped out the back and headed towards the men’s room.

He rubbed his palms over his thighs, cleared his throat, and pulled the door open. There was a guy standing at the urinal. He swayed dangerously, stumbling, as he sang out a few off key lyrics, but remained upright as he peed. Dean snuck behind him down to the third, slightly undersized handicap, stall. He blew out a rough breath, steeling himself—lips pursed, hand raised—trying to control the swarm of butterflies riding currents in his stomach. The stall door pulled back, and Dean faltered at the sight that met his eyes.  

Castiel stood, eyes dark, lips curled, under a halo of light. Shadows danced over his flesh, bringing out the sharp features of his face; his eyes glowed in the low light as he moved, reaching out with one strong hand, to grip Dean’s raised wrist and pull him into the stall. Dean was spell bound. He went easily, caught up in the strength that was Castiel—or maybe the power the other man’s presence exuded. It washed over Dean, making him weak, his body limp and pliable in Castiel’s hands. The air rushed from his lungs as Castiel spun him and pinned his chest against the marker scarred wall. Dean rolled his hips back, seeking Castiel out. A soft groan erupted from his lungs as he slid against the warm cradle of Castiel’s hips behind him.

“Yesss.” Dean hissed, and Castiel chuckled dark and deep, a rumble against Dean’s back.

Castiel pressed forward, one arm firm along Dean’s shoulders, holding him to the wall. The other sliding down his ribcage and slipping over his side to drop—palm flat, fingers wide—over Dean’s stomach. Apprehension caused Dean’s breath to catch in his throat. His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering as pleasure tingled over his skin. He loved being manhandled and tossed around. It was so easy, so wonderful; it was everything, and he wanted more, he needed it—craved it.

“Dean” Castiel growled into his ear.

“God…” Dean whimpered, breathy and faint. His cock hardened in his jeans. Castiel’s hand on his abdomen stilled, radiating heat into his core. Just a little lower, if he’d only move his hand a little lower. Dean was so hot, his mind spinning, as he sucked in the stale bathroom air. He couldn't think past one word. One word repeated in his mind; one word could give him everything he wanted.

“Sir.”

“Fuck, _Dean_.” Castiel cursed open mouth against Dean’s sweaty neck. The other man vibrated behind him, lips sliding along the column of Dean’s throat. Shaky breaths puffed harshly against his skin as Castiel seemed to fight for control, battling his own will.

Dean was on fire in his arms. The hand on his abdomen pressed down, pushing Dean’s hips back until they slid against Castiel’s. Dean moaned out his arousal, feeling a substantial bulge pressed against his jean clad ass. He wanted it—ached for it.

Castiel abortively sunk his teeth into the meat at the bend of Dean’s sweat slick neck. Their hips collided, ground against one another. Castiel sucked in a harsh breath, cool air tickling over Dean’s skin as Castiel peppered Dean’s neck with tiny nips of teeth. Castiel gave a firm roll of his hips, pressing his erection against the plush curve of Dean’s backside before he was gone.

Dean verbally mourned the loss, his wale turning into a yelp as Castiel spun him around and forced him to his knees.

Dean swayed, hands flying out to grip Castiel’s thickly muscled thighs. Dean squeezed the muscles under his palms, his cock straining against the confines of his jeans as arousal swamped his senses. He blinked, trying to focus. Catching his breath, he looked up at Castiel.

The man glowed as he towered above Dean, hair sticking up at dangerous angles. Broad chest heaving, eyes narrowed, one hand landed heavily on the top of Dean’s head. Castiel’s fingers knotted in his hair, pulling the strands, as he rolled his shoulders back. He looked towards the ceiling, his eyes fluttered closed and he drew a long, slow breath. Dean watched with amazement as calm fell over Castiel like a blanket. When his eyes opened again the storm still raged in their blue depths, but his body had quieted. Castiel was in control.

“Say it.” He growled.

“Poughkeepsie,” Dean breathed, Castiel swelled before his eyes. “Green.” Dean whispered, staring up at his Dom. He licked his lips. How he knew what Castiel wanted, he’d never understand—he just did. He could feel it, like an ache, in his bones.

“Purgatory.” Castiel echoed, releasing his grip on Dean’s hair. “Take your shirt off.”

Dean flew to comply, fingers fumbling in the sweat dampened cotton. He pulled it over his head as Castiel freed his belt from the loops of his pants. Dean dropped his shirt and Castiel's scowled at him, belt held taught between his fingers.

“Pick it up, fold it and put it on the seat cover.” Castiel commanded. His long fingers stroking over the silver buckle of his belt.

Dean licked his lips. Lifting the shirt, he folded it and carefully set it on the closed toilet seat cover. He rubbed his palms along his thighs, nervous he was messing up already.

“Good boy.” Castiel whispered, fingers petting through Dean’s hair. “Look at me.”

Dean lifted his head. Castiel was holding out his belt for Dean to see.

“This is a very special belt.” Castiel said softly, his fingers working the buckle until it gave a soft click. “It was a gift from a friend. Something that I treasure dearly though, until just now, have never had an opportunity to use.” The buckle fell into Castiel's waiting palm and he slipped it into his pants pocket. Rapidly the belt began to unwind. Castiel draped it over his shoulder as the belt unraveled into a length of rope, inky black and silky soft; Castiel continued to wind it over his shoulder, careful to never let it touch the bathroom floor.

Deans mouth went dry at the sight. This was better than anything he had imagined for tonight. Here he had thought that Castiel would maybe spank him, maybe a little pain and scratching—biting something, anything—but he hadn’t known what to expect. Something quick and dirty in the bathroom stall, and then back to work was all he imagined. He had underestimated this man, his Dom. Castiel was constantly surprising him.

“I’m going to bind you, Dean. I am going to wrap your beautiful body in my rope and send you back out in front of all of those people. You’re going to feel me every time you move, feel my hands, my rope sliding over your skin.” Castiel stroked the rope, holding it out for Dean to see.

“Anytime someone touches you for the rest of the night, you will count it. For every touch you receive from anyone that is not me, I will touch you twice more. When I have you alone, spread out for my eyes-my hands only, I will rebrand your skin with my touch. I will mold you with my hands, my mouth, my toys. For every contact you make for the rest of the night, I will make you mine double that.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean breathed. His head was spinning; he felt dizzy and lightheaded. No one had ever wanted to possess Dean like this before. Sure people had wanted to own him, to have his submission—his compliance, but never had Dean felt like someone wanted his skin to only know their touch. It had never been like this before, not with this passion, this heat. It was addicting.

“Good boy. Stand up, pull your pants down, and brace your hands on the wall. I am going to put you in a harness.” Dean rolled fluidly to his feet, spinning around again to face the wall. Castiel came up behind him, breath ghosting along the shell of his ear. “I want you to feel me surrounding you.”

Dean bit his lip, groaning, he fumbled with the button on his pants. Castiel toed at his heels until he spread his legs far enough that when his pants slid down his hips, they stopped at his knees. Dean half turned at the strangled groan Castiel made as Dean’s pants slipped down.

Castiel's expression was somewhere between ecstasy and agony, his hand reaching out for the curve of Dean's ass, his lips fell open on a small ‘oh’ sound that was swallowed by the noise from the band outside.

“Dean…” Castiel sighed “How are you even real?” Featherlight, his fingertips ghosted over Dean’s left ass cheek, and Dean remembered, a sinister smile curving his lips as he turned to face the wall again. Very slowly Dean tilted his hips back, offering his black lace, boy short covered ass for Castiel’s pleasure. Deans cock throbbed against his hip, held tight to his body by the skimpy panties. He had never been so happy he’d missed laundry day.

“My sweet boy.” Castiel whispered, sinking his fingers into the meat of Dean’s ass. “Next time… next time.”

Dean felt the drag of the slim rope along the curve of his ass.

“I’m going to begin now.”

Castiel worked with practiced hands. The binding wound around Dean’s chest, framing his pectorals, rib cage, forming knotted diamonds over his core, and framing his belly button. Tight and secure, Castiel’s hands wove delicate patterns in rope around Dean’s torso. The confidant motions of those hands stuttered and stilled as they neared Dean’s pelvis. Dean looked down, blinking his eyes open for the first time in minutes, to see Castiel’s large hands frozen in the air, hovering over Dean’s aching, lace covered erection.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please, Sir.” Dean exhaled.

Castiel’s hand gently cupped Dean’s hardness, warm fingers gliding over the lace covered skin. Dean dropped his head back, exposing his throat with a sigh. His hips rocked, seeking what little friction Castiel’s loose grip offered.

“I wonder,” Castiel hummed against the column of Dean’s throat. “If you taste as good here,” his fingers squeezed Dean’s cock, making Dean bite down on his lower lip. He was completely taken by surprise with the intensity of the pleasure assaulting his system. “As you do here.” Castiel ran the flat of his tongue, in a thick stripe, up Dean’s neck.

“Sir… God... Please…” Dean whined, hips rolling and hands sweating against the grimy wall.

Castiel’s dark chuckle was his only response. The Dom moved with ease slipping the two ends of his rope down the top of Dean’s panties, and wrapping them around the base of his cock. His hands draw the rope back and around his balls, forming a small knot against the back of his sack, before Castiel adjusted his stance and brought the ends of the rope up between Dean’s cheeks.

“Shift your hips.” He commanded, stepping out of Dean’s personal space for the first time.

Dean did as he was told, gasping as the rope slid between his cheeks, against his sensitive  hole; the silk rope pulled on the base of his aching cock in a way that wasn’t exactly pain, and wasn’t exactly pleasure. His dick, balls, and asshole were all encased, caressed by the rope.  It was intense, and Dean wanted more.

Every move Dean made caused the rope to shift over his body, slide against his hole, tug on his dick, and caress his ribs. Every breath he took rolled the rope, prompting it to pull against his chest and stomach. Dean moaned, shifting his hips again, and again. Dropping his head, he watched the black rope slip over his abdomen, his hips. God he felt… sexy. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of his skin, feel the rope and flesh beneath his palms.

This was almost like the first time he had put on stockings. A small laugh bubbled up from his throat at the thought, but fuck if it wasn't true.

“Something amusing you, my pet?” Castiel asked.

Dean stilled his writhing body. Licking his lips, he cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. Castiel stepped back into his personal space, rested his large hand on Dean’s flank.

“It’s ok, you can tell me.” Castiel purred against the back of Dean’s neck. “I want to know what’s going through that beautiful mind of yours.”

Dean fidgeted, and that was a mistake. The ropes pulled, tugged, in all the right places. Castiel’s agile tongue likced the sweat from the nape of his neck, as soft little breaths cooled against Dean’s skin.

“I… I was thinking that…” Dean gave a small wine as Castiel’s hands followed the rope under his arms and around the top of his pectorals.

“Yes, go on.”

“I was thinking that, fuck. I-- I feel sexy.” Dean rushed out, his left leg jiggling nervously.

Castiel chuckled, his fingers sliding to pinch and flick Dean’s nipples. Dean choked a gasp, his body went rigid, cock spurting an aborted stream of pre-come agasint his hip. Arching, his hands fisted against the wall.

“Oh..” Castiel hummed dangerously. “I see…” Dean could practically hear the smile in Castiel’s voice, the other man’s fingers zeroed in on Dean’s nipples, once again. He pinched and twisted, rubbed and flicked as Dean panted. Moaning, his head fell back on Castiel’s shoulder, body burning alive and toes curling inside his boots.

Just as soon as it had started, it stopped and Dean was left panting, cock aching. He blinked around incredulously, he was fucking close—so fucking close. Another millisecond and he would have come. He looked down; his cock was bright red and throbbing under the lace at his hip.

“Get dressed.” Castiel commanded, his shoes scuffing as he stepped away from Dean, again.

Dean whimpered, whined, out right pouting as he bent down to pull his pants up. The silk rope slid against his hole as he stretched. He was angry at being denied his release, carefully doing up the zipper and button around his aching dick. He spun around, again a mistake, the ropes pulled, slid, over his skin. He lifted his shirt and frowned at it before putting it on, finally lifting his face to Castiel.

The other man stepped forward, boxing Dean in although Dean was ever so slightly taller, he felt small—so small—when Castiel crowded in on him.

“Something on your mind, pet? Something you want?” Castiel asked, blue eyes dancing with lust and amusement.

Dean knew he was being baited. He knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help it.

“I want to come.” He gritted out, letting the words hang between them. He met Castiel’s eye for a fraction of a second before dropping his gaze. “Please, don’t make me go back out there like this. Please, let me come.” Dean went on in a hushed tone, licking at his lips. “Please, some relief. Please, Sir.” Dean looked up at Castiel through his eyelashes, going for his best pout. Dean had a puppy dog look that could rival even Sam’s, though he really didn’t want to think about his brother right now. It had gotten Dean out of—and into—a lot of situations. He could, in fact, win over most people with these sad, pleading, too green eyes. Most people. But apparently, Castiel wasn’t most people.

“Ah, my sweet boy. Such beautiful begging.” The Dom ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I think you can do better, though. Don’t you?”

Dean opened his mouth to beg again; right now, with how aroused he was, he certainly wasn’t above begging. If Castiel wanted begging, Dean would beg. His cock ached, and his hole tingled from the inadequate and constant stimulation of the rope. His entire being felt like it was vibrating with need.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Castiel lifted a hand to cover Dean’s mouth. His eyes glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Looks like we are out of time. I seem to have kept you much longer than I intended. I believe you’re due back behind the bar by now, aren't you?”

Dean groaned, his body gave a tremble of frustration. Castiel's hand fell from his lips, taking a small step back, freeing himself from Dean’s personal space.

“Color, Dean?”

Dean could get out right now; he could call yellow, and adjust what was happening to fit his will. He could give in to his body’s demands, show his weakness, and upset the trust they were building together. Would that really make him happy, though? Would getting an orgasm right now, no matter how badly he wanted it, really fill him in the same way that pleasing Castiel would? No, it wouldn't.

“Green, Sir.” Dean answered taking a slow deliberate breath, feeling the ropes hug him as his chest expanded.

“So good. Do you remember your task?”

“Keep count of every instance another person touches me aside from you.”

“Excellent, when does your shift end?”

“Three am.”

Castiel clicked his tongue, “I think that's a little bit too long, don’t you?” He adjusted the large, slate gray watch on his wrist, checking the time. “It’s just passing midnight, now. Let’s say we give it an hour and a half. We reconvene here at 1:30 am?”

“Yes, Sir. I think I could get away for a little while around then.” Dean checked his own watch setting a timer for an hour and a half. It was a cheap metal and rubber thing from the local Kohl's. It looked small and dingy next to the sleek device Castiel wore.

“Good, I’ll be watching.” Castiel swooped in, one hand on the back of Dean’s head, pulling him down gently to kiss his forehead before stepping back and reaching for the door. “Make me proud, Dean.” And he was gone.

 

**)o(**

  


God damn Benny.

Dean had never really put any thought into the man’s affectionate nature, until this moment. His count had broken twenty with in the first five minutes of exiting the bathroom. He had expected to rack up a bunch of touches working his way back towards the bar. However, what he had not taken into account, was his friend.

Dean had told Benny his stomach was acting up and that explained away his extended stay in the bathroom. His plan had worked great for avoiding any uncomfortable questions that might arise, like how every time the rope shifted and Dean let slip a groan or moan. But now, Benny was checking in on Dean every few minutes: a gentle clap to his shoulder, catching Dean on his forearm, concerned looks met with fingers to the small of his back. Little touches, that probably happened all the time anyway, were now glaringly obvious.

Even though he was now safely ensconced behind the bar, his number kept climbing. His count passed thirty-eight within the first half an hour. Dean had never realized how often physical contact wove into the way people interacted, flirted. A busty woman had caressed his wrist as she paid him for her drink. Dean found it hard to focus, to find his usual charm, with Castiel’s rope wrapped around him. It felt wrong, like cheating. Dean started at the thought, he didn’t have time to examine it. An inebriated younger man, in the bands t-shirt, had almost climbed over the bar, shouting his drink order and grabbing Dean by the shoulder. Dean felt like he was suddenly dodging wandering fingers, and groping hands anytime he had to clear away glasses. Had it always been like this?

To make matters worse, Castiel had somehow gotten himself one of the coveted seats around the bend in the bar. The blue eyed devil was sitting, sipping an iced tea with lemon. He reclined, too casually, back pressed against the wall, eyes predatory, watching Dean’s every move. At first, Dean had felt nervous about being observed so closely, feeling the phantom heat of Castiel’s gaze watching him. But the look on Castiel’s face the first time Benny had gotten into Dean’s space was priceless; reaching across him to grab the bottle of vodka, Benny’s large forearm brushed over Dean’s abdomen. Well, Dean didn’t think he’d ever forget the fire that lit up those baby blues.

He had begun to make a little game of it, after that. Had, being the key word; because after ten minutes, Castiel waved Dean over to refill his iced tea, casually showing Dean the napkin he was keeping a tally on. At the top was written ‘Bad boy | Good boy.’ There were considerably more marks under the ‘bad boy’ column than the ‘good boy.’ Dean decided he’d had enough fun bumping into Benny for the night. Benny, however, didn’t seem to get the hint, and continued to hover on the edges of Dean’s personal space.

Dean crouched down. He was sweating again, the rope rubbing a constant reminder against his skin. The alarm on his watch beeped and Dean slapped a hand over it, silencing it. Exaggerating a groan, he rose.

“Benny, I gotta hit the head.” Dean grimaced, hand rubbing over his stomach. He had a small flutter of guilt at the concerned look Benny cast his way, but it morphed quickly into the low buzz of arousal. Dean stole a glance to where Castiel had been sitting, but the man was already gone. Always one step ahead of him, Dean thought as he tried not to rush to the men’s room.

There was no drunk at the urinal this time. Most people were crowded around the stage for the band's last few songs. Dean didn’t hesitate at the stall door this time. Instead, he shoved the door open, bursting into the stall to find… nothing. It’s almost comical how his shoulders drop, and he looks around the small stall like Castiel will magically pop out from behind the water tank. He dosen’t.

Did Castiel leave…? Dean had gotten busy with work but, the other man wouldn’t have left… would he? Castiel didn’t seem the type to bail on a sub, or a scene, or really anything he’d promised to do. Unless Dean was reading the whole thing all wrong an-

His body lurched forward, the stall door slamming behind him. A warm weight settled against his back, knees pressed into the bend of his own walking him forward as strong arms wrapped around his chest.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel’s voice rumbled against his back. “I couldn’t resist teasing you a little. It’s been… difficult for me.” The hands at Dean’s chest balled into fists, long fingers scraping against Dean’s shirt until the fabric was scrunched up in strong hands. “To watch you be touched by so many other people. And then you started to tease me, that was—“ Dean shivered as Castiel nipped the back of his neck, soothing over the mark with a little lick of his tongue. “Very rude.”

Dean reached out, palms slapping against the tiled wall to stop Castiel from walking them forward anymore. Castiel plastered his slightly smaller form to Dean’s back, his breath ghosting over the back of Dean’s neck.

“Sir…” Dean had no idea what he was asking for, but he was certain he wanted something; something big. He cocked his hips back, pressed against Castiel’s own, and made an offer he wasn’t sure he was fully willing to follow up on. He was clean—was Castiel? He didn’t even have a condom or lube, but god he wanted it. He wanted to be fucked by this man, this Dom, in the filthy bathroom stall of his job like the needy slut he was.

Dean groaned lowly at the thought, his hips rolling back with more pressure. He was spurned on by his mind’s abnormal thought pattern. He’d never thought of himself like that, like a slut, but here in Castiel’s arms he felt safe, protected; he felt like he really, really needed a dick in his ass. He specifically needed Castiel thrusting into him, pressing him down, holding him, and using him.

Dean let his head hang, eyes closing, and focused on the feel of Castiel behind him. He concentrated on his own cock—hardening, lengthening, throbbing— straining against his jeans, pulling the ropes tight. Castiel pressed forward behind him, meeting Dean’s movements and groaning low and long, his head falling heavy between Dean’s shoulder blades.

“Dean, please. You’re making this… difficult for me.” Castiel released Dean’s shirt to grip his hips, forcing him into stillness.

Dean chuckled breathlessly, “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I’m trying my damndest to make this _hard_ for you.”

Castiel thrust his hips forward, pressing his arousal against Dean’s cleft. “Oh my sweet, you are. And I promise you, it is taking every ounce of my willpower not to take what you are offering to me.”

As he spoke, Castiel’s hands slid under Dean’s shirt, rolling over the ropes to find his nipples. His fingers pressed and flicked, scraping lightly until Dean arched. Feeling the tightness—sparks of pleasure, they hardened under Castiel’s skillful fingers.

“What is your number?” Castiel asked, his nose running over the knob of Dean’s neck. His fingers relentless against Dean’s nipples.

“You’re using that against me.” Dean grunted, eyes squeezed closed, hands fisted against the wall. Pleasurable pain assaulted his system shooting an electrical current from his nipples to the tip of his dick.

Castiel chuckled, darkly. “I plan on learning your body intimately, Dean, and using every little thing you reveal to me, against you.”

Castiel peeled his body off Deans back and Dean shivered at the loss of heat.

“Now, what is your number.”

Dean licked his lips. His left leg shook slightly in his impatience, his cock rubbing, with each little bounce of his leg, against his jeans. “Eighty-four.”

“Eighty-four?” Castiel parroted, surprise evident in his voice.

Dean grunted as he was spun around, back slamming against the wall with the force behind Castiel’s hands. Dean can’t help the smile that curls his lips. Castiel’s eyes are narrowed. His full lips parted, and color rides high on his cheeks. He looks livid.

“Eighty-four,” Dean said again. “Eighty-four times people touched me, Sir.” He preened, chin lifting, as Castiel’s eyes flashed murder. Dean knew he was pushing; Castiel obviously had some serious possessive tendencies and that could be dangerous. He’d dealt with stalkers, before. Castiel didn’t seem the type, and Dean couldn’t help it—he was feeling reckless. “Eighty-four times someone, other then you: put their hands on me, brushed along me, put themselves into contact with my body.”

Castiel licked his lips, and Dean was mesmerised by the pink of his tongue. The other man ran one hand through his hair, dark locks standing on end as he scraped his fingers through it. Just a little more, Dean thought, he was so close to pushing Castiel over the edge.

“Touched what was yours.” Dean whispered, leaning forward, his lips just inches from Castiel’s ear. The other man shivered, his hand yanked from his hair and slammed against the wall above Dean’s shoulder. Dean flinched back at the sudden movement, his breath catching in his chest.

Castiel’s eyes scoured over his body, flicking rapidly over every inch of Dean’s frame. The hand that wasn’t braced on the wall next to Dean’s ear lifted in the thin space between their bodies. The air was so charged, Dean could feel the spark of electricity arcing between them. Castiel stretched out long agile fingers and brushed them, feather light, down the fabric of Dean’s shirt, over his ribs. Castiel drew a shuddered breath, his fingers curling back in against his palm. His hand fell limply to his side. Carefully, he took a step back.

Dean released the breath he was holding in a rush. When Castiel lifted his head again, his lips were set in a firm line.

“I do not like being teased Dean.” He said, his voice rusted steel. “Bad boy.”

Dean dropped his eyes, the smile slipping from his lips.

“Turn around. Take your shirt off. Drop your pants. I am going to unbind you now.”

Dean couldn’t explain the panic that welled up in his body, choking him from the inside out. His mind raced. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Castiel to take the rope back. He didn’t want to be alone, again. He didn’t want Castiel to take the rope and leave—leave him here at the bar surrounded by strangers and blurred out faces. He didn’t want to loose the embrace of the rope around him. He had never felt so secure, so right, as he had over the past hour.

Dean’s breath hiccuped in his throat. His hands lifted on their own to clutch the cotton of his shirt.

“N-no,” He whimpered out.

“Dean,” Castiel growled his name. “I gave you an order.”

“N-no.” Dean whispered again his hands fingering the roped under his shirt.

“Dean!” Castiel grunted, then sighed, exasperated. “Don’t you want to be my good boy, don’t you want to be good for me?”

Dean was nodding before Castiel even finished his sentence. “Yes, Sir. I do.” He hated how his voice was soft, broken––desperate. He hated when his anxiety choked him: made him less of a man, made him needy. Castiel didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be disobeyed after all he’d done tonight for Dean’s pleasure.

“Why won’t you do what I say? Good boys listen to their Sir’s,” Castiel reached out and cupped Dean’s jaw.

Dean groaned, a stunted noise deep in his throat. He was frustrated, embarrassed. His left leg jiggled. ‘ _Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone,_ ’ his head screamed, his mouth parted and another grunt fell passed his lips. He looked away, eyes drifting anywhere but at Castiel. He whined, boots shifting on the dirty floor.

“Dean.”

“Dean?”

Castiel’s hushed voice was overridden by Benny, who knocked on the stall door. Both men turned, eyes wide. Dean felt sweat erupt all over his body, his pulse racing. Castiel cupped his face, warm hands turning Dean’s head away from the stall door to look at him. He was calm, eyes clear. He over-exaggerated a breath in, encouraging Dean to do the same. They breathed out together. In again, out together.

“Dean?” Benny’s voice questioned through the door again.

Castiel gave Dean a rough nod and released his face. Dean licked his lips, closing his eyes, and his head tilted towards the ceiling. His left leg jiggled, his booted heel tapping against the floor.

“Y-yeah,” Dean finally grit out. His voice was choked; nerves fluttered in his system. He was going to lose this job. What was he even thinking? That wasn’t even the problem. He was so stupid—this whole idea was stupid. How could he be so careless? Dean lifted his hands to grip his hair, pulling on the strands.

“Hey, brother.” Benny said, his voice louder. He must have been leaning towards the door.

Castiel calmly reached up and pulled Dean’s hands from his hair. Dean stared at the other man. He gently massaged the inside of Dean’s wrists with his thumbs, slow soothing circles. Castiel held his eyes. Again, he was drawing in deep breaths, exhaling them silently.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah-Benny.”

“Look, the nights about shot. The bands on its last song. Jo, and Cole, and I can shut this place down. Why don’t you come cash out your tips and head home?”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was certain he was about to be fired—certain that his odd behavior and long absences hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“What?!” Dean choked out. “Benny…?” Dean made to move towards the door but Castiel held him firm, a slow shake of his head. Dean licked his lips and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Trust me. You’re a good guy Dean, but I can’t risk you getting the patrons sick. Plus, like I said, the night's over. I don’t need to listen to you groaning as we mop up. Call me before your shift tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No worries, Brother. Swing by the bar when... uh, before you go and I’ll have your tips.”

“Sure, man. Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.” Benny tapped on the door once before the sound of his boots scuffing signaled his departure.

Dean sagged forward, the adrenaline of the past few moments taking the steam out of him. Castiel moved in order to catch him, his body supporting Dean’s weight has he leaned on the other man.

“Sorry… sorry…” Dean mumbled into Castiel's neck, overwhelmed for the moment. He drew in slow breaths of warm air, tinted with the musky scent of the man supporting him. Dean slowed his breathing, turning his head to run his nose up into Castiel’s soft hair. He scent made Dean feel warm and safe, it was wild and spicy, woodsy, and very alpha. Dean felt his skin prickle, the hairs at the nape of his neck lifting. Castiel was perfect.

“Don’t be sorry. If anyone should be sorry it’s me.” Castiel sighed against Dean's shoulder. Carefully, he moved them until Dean was seated on the closed toilet lid and he stood between Dean’s spread knees. “I should have known better then to play with you while you were at work. There is always too much at stake.”  Castiel ran his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip. “I just… I couldn't’ resist. After not seeing you… after leaving that night and expecting…” He breathed out roughly, and Dean felt embarrassment swirl in his stomach.

“I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t the possibility that I’d never see you again; however, as the days bled on I realized that maybe, maybe…”

“No,” Dean cut him off, reaching up and grabbing his wrist. His eyes searched Castiel’s face, trying to convey what he couldn’t say. He was scared, that, what? Once Castiel realized who Dean was—how he lived, the poor broken man he’d become—the Dom would turn away and never come back? Dean had held that business card every single day, worn it soft from his fingers stroking over the text. How he’d wanted to call but he couldn’t bring himself to be another disappointment. His voice failed him and Castiel spoke into his silence.

“But then I saw you, Dean, and I _hungered_ . I couldn’t even approach you without fear of losing myself. And how you searched for me...” Castiel chuckled. “How your beautiful face would constrict,” he ran his forefinger over Dean’s left eyebrow. “You’re so expressive, I could read every emotion on your face, and it made me _want_ , Dean. You make me want things I haven’t wanted in a very long time.”

Dean’s ears were ringing, he couldn't be hearing this correctly. No one had ever spoken about him with such passion, so much conviction. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe in Castiel, in the things the other man was saying. He searched for the lie, eyes wide, not wanting to miss any expression on Castiel’s face—anything that would tell Dean what was real and what wasn’t. Castiel bent forward, and Dean held his breath, lips parting. Yes, this was it; he wanted this, a kiss. He wanted Castiel to kiss him. He wanted to feel Castiel’s lips on his own, taste his mouth. Would Castiel kiss like he Dommed: powerful, aggressive, controlling?

Dean let out a rough breath, eyebrows dipping as Castiel leaned around him—avoiding his face, his lips, the obvious invitation—and gripped the bottom of his shirt, lifting it free in one smooth motion. Dean was so surprised by the action, he didn’t even resist as Castiel helped him to his feet and began unbuttoning his pants.

Gently, Castiel turned him around, made him spread his legs, and guided his jeans and the panties down around his hips.

“So beautiful.” Castiel whispered.

Dean finally came back to himself, feeling the strings at his lower back being tugged. Castiel was working to remove his harness.

“No…” He gasped, turning clumsily around. “No please.”

“Dean.” Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I just, I want, too. I want— I want you, please.” Dean tried and failed to say what he meant. Castiel looked frustrated, upset, tired. “I’m sorry I waited, I’m sorry. I was scared— scared that I was the only one who felt… what I felt during our scene.” Dean’s voice faded as he spoke. Losing his nerve, he had never been great at expressing himself. This was important, though; this was something he had to attempt. His heart beat madly in his chest. His hands were damp with sweat. “Please don’t leave me.” His eyes dropped, the plea barely audible over the sudden eruption of the crowd outside.

Castiel looked shocked for a brief moment. Then, a small smile curved the right side of his lips. Dean soaked up the expression. It made him look dashing, devious, playful. If Dean wasn’t going to see this man ever again, he wanted to remember him just like this: hair rucked up, eyes sparkling, happy, mischievous look gracing his sharp features.

“I’m not going to leave you, sweetheart.” Castiel whispered, lifting one of Dean’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to—which I don’t.”

Dean felt relief flood him. It made him weak, tired. His body was so, so tired. He was drained. He sagged back against the wall, careless of his flushed skin pressing against the markered tile.

“Come home with me.”

Dean blinked his eyes open. “What?”

“Come home with me. Let me take care of you.” Castiel shifted on his feet, licked his lips, and waited—almost cautiously—just on the edge of Dean’s personal space.

“Okay.” Dean said softly.

“Okay?” Castiel repeated, his brows lifting, and a smile expanding over his face.

“Yeah…” Dean nodded.

“Thank you, Dean. You’re so wonderful, so good for me.”

Dean felt heat climb his cheeks and a flush of warmth bloom over his bare chest at the praise.

“Thank you, Sir.” He responded sheepishly.

“Now turn around, and let me take these off of you.”

“What?! No! Please, I’ll be good. Please.”

“Dean, you are going to chafe!” Castiel said, his blue eyes going wide with frustration and what looked to be amusement. “God, you’re such a brat, aren’t you? You do make it difficult to not want to spoil you, though. Would you like to be my spoiled little brat? I bet you would.” Castiel runs his fingertips along Dean’s jaw, clear blue eyes study his face. “Now, turn around and let me adjust the ropes until we are home.”

“Until we’re home.” Dean mumbled thoughtfully. Slowly, he turned back to face the wall.

“Yes, Dean. Until we’re home.” Castiel said quietly, almost absently as he focused his attention on unbinding the ends of the ropes. Dean felt the ropes slide from between his cheeks. Castiel carefully undid the knot behind his scrotum, freed his testicles, and then released the loop around the base of his shaft. Instead of completely removing the rope, Castiel bound one loose length of rope around each of Dean’s thighs before pulling his panties and pants back up.

He clicked his tongue. “You’re already red. I was concerned that it would be too much, too long….” His voice faded out. “Turn around and put your shirt back on. What is your color?”

“Green. Sir.” Dean said immediately. He felt better, he hadn’t realized how sore he was becoming between his cheeks and around the base of his cock. He did feel tired. A strange kind of fatigue was building at the base of his skull. He blinked his eyes, and they felt like sandpaper.

“Good, go to the bar collect your tips, and your things. Meet me in the parking lot. I drive a…” Castiel stopped, squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “Do you know anything about Cars?” Before Dean could even address the question, Castiel went on. “It doesn’t matter. You can tell me later. I drive an older model car—dark blue with white detailing on the side. It's a chevy. I’m going to find Samandriel and let him know I’m leaving, and that I can either call a car for him or pay for his Lyft home. I will meet you by the front entrance. Please try not to dally, we have a bit of a ride ahead of us.”

Dean stood stunned. In a blink, Castiel handed him his shirt, opened the stall door, thrown one last look over his shoulder, and left. Everything jumped forward. Dean hustled, practically falling out of the stall. His shirt half on, half off, he rushed out behind Castiel. He frowned as Castiel was swallowed up by the crowd milling around the now empty stage.

Dean surged to the bar, knocking into more than one person in his haste. Benny must have taken his heavy breathing and flushed appearance to mean Dean was sicker than he’d thought. The older man cashed Dean out, handed him a bottle of cold water, and ushered him towards the entrance as quickly as possible.

Dean stood moments later, mouth hanging open. His leather jacket looped awkwardly over his shoulder, only one arm slipped through a sleeve. His eyes blinked, astonished, at one of the most beautiful cars he’d seen in a long time.

Castiel popped out of the driver side, tapped his hand on the roof, and shouted, “Get in!” A beautiful smile stretched along his face as he slipped back into the car.

Dean jumped into action; very rarely would he have to be told twice to get into a vintage beauty like this. Pulling open the door, he slid into the warm navy blue bucket seat, sighing as the supple leather wrapped around him. Castiel shifted in the driver’s seat, threw the purring car into gear, and sped out of the parking lot.

“Seat belt, Dean,” He reminded. His voice was low and sexy, like the growl of the car as it down up the highway.

“Cas…” Dean breathed, his fingers flew to secure the belt over his hips, then lifted to run adoringly over the dash of the car. “When you said you drove an older model car, I didn’t realize you meant vintage.”

“Yes, vintage would have been a more appropriate word for it, I suppose.” Castiel said with a small chuckle, his thick thighs flexed as he shifted gears. The car responded smoothly, revved, and picked up speed. Dean stared, his mouth completely dry. Castiel handled the car like they were made for one another.

“Yeah, don’t ever call this car old. This is a [C1 Corvette](http://www.vettefacts.com/images/1961-black-convertible-corvette.jpg). A[—](http://www.vettefacts.com/images/1961-black-convertible-corvette.jpg)what—59, ‘60?” Dean ran his fingers over the smooth leather of the door. This was heaven. The car vibrated pleasantly around his body, the bucket seat cradling him. The air smelled like leather cleaner and that deep woodsy, spiced scent of Castiel.

“That’s very good, Dean,” Castiel said, his eyes leaving the road for a moment to flick over Dean appreciatively. “It’s a 1961. I had it restored. Something about its shape really spoke to me. Its unique. And convertible.” He added, as an afterthought.

Dean looked up at the roof, then back down at the man sitting across from him. How was this even his life, how did he go from a train and two buses to get to and from his jobs to riding in a 1961 Convertible Corvette C1? How?

“I really liked the ‘59 nose better, but I found a 61 at a good price and couldn’t pass it up. The guy tried to sell me his ‘62 but…” Castiel grimaced, his nose scrunching up adorably.

Dean couldn't help feeling a little breathless. This had to be some kind of joke. There was no way that Castiel Novak was a real person. There just wasn’t any way this was possible, not in Dean’s world anyway. Dean did not meet smart, devastatingly handsome, older men who were fantastic doms, with manners, in and out of the scene. He didn’t meet successful men who had respectable jobs, and he _certainly_ didn’t meet men who were all of those things _and_ loved classic cars. He felt dizzy.

Dean barked a laugh. There was no way he was actually listening to this successful, gorgeous man talk in detail about how he hated the nose design of the 1962 Chevrolet Corvette and how he felt they had ruined the entire shape of the body from the beauty of the ‘61. Dean subtly gave the side of his thigh a hard pinch.

Yep, that hurt.

“Cas, you’re— you’re perfect.” Dean breathed out, wonder in his voice. “I— I-” He laughed a high pitched wheeze as he ran his hands through his hair and stared blankly out the front window. His mind was swirling with too many thoughts for him to keep up.

Castiel hummed softly, the Corvette shifted gears again. They merged out onto the freeway, the car eating up the cracked, grey asphalt illuminated under its slightly yellowed headlights.

“Thank you, Dean. I can promise, I feel the same way about you.” Castiel’s hand fell like a warm weight on Dean’s thigh, causing him to look over at the man. His profile was beautiful, striking, sharp. His straight nose, full lips, and defined jaw were all cast in the low glow of the dash. He looked other-worldly.

“Try to get some rest, we’ve got about an hour, give or take, before we get to my house.” Castiel said, keeping his gaze trained on the road. “Drink your water.”

Dean nodded, he uncapped the bottle and lifted it to his lips. “Oh,” he muttered suddenly, pulling out his cellphone and firing off two texts.

 **ME** :[2:42AM] Going home with Castiel, if you don’t hear from me by 1030am tmrrw. I’m dead. He murdered me and you’re a shitty friend for introducing us. AND I’m going to haunt you.

 **Alfie** :[2:42AM] You’re an idiot and an asshole!

 **Alfie:** [2:42AM] I have to take a cab home because of you!!! >:-[ I better get details. You owe me!

 **Alfie:** [243am] Also, good job remembering to set up an emergency call. I know where Cas lives so, if I have to come get you I will. You won’t call though, cause Castiel is amazing. But I will... if you do...

 **ME:** [2:43AM] Dude… lol thanks.

 **Alfie:** [2:44am] yeah yeah, at least one of us is getting laid tonight.

Dean didn’t have the heart to tell Alfie he wasn’t one hundred percent on that. He was definitely going to get something tonight. After all the frustration and teasing, an orgasm had better be in his future. Still, he and Castiel hadn’t exchanged their most recent STD screenings yet, so Dean wasn't sure exactly how far they would be able to go.

Sometime between Dean double checking his alarms for work tomorrow and sending his last text to Alfie, Castiel had turned on some mellow classical music—because, of course, no one was perfect. Honestly, if Cas’s only flaw was that he listened to mellow ass classical music, Dean could live with that. He stifled a yawn on the back of his hand and let his head fall back against the buttery leather of his seat.

 

**)o(**

 

Dean jolted awake. His arm flailing for his beeping phone, he reached out and smacked his hand down, groaning as he hit nothing but pillowy soft sheets.

That wasn’t right.

The alarm chirped, and he surged again, this time grabbing his phone and silencing his alarm. He laid back with a deep sigh. The bed wrapped around him, warm and cozy. He was beyond comfortable. It was stupid how comfortable he was.

Maybe he had died last night and this was what heaven felt like? He’d be cool with his heaven being warm, soft, and smelling like lilacs… Lilacs? Dean didn’t use fabric softener. His eyes popped open. His ceiling also wasn’t a light cream color, and his bed definitely wasn’t this large… or comfortable.

He sat up, sucking a harsh breath in through his nose. The room he was in was large, beautiful and most certainly not his. Two giant windows were letting in—what Dean felt was— an abnormal amount of sunlight, casting the room in tones of warm gold. Their gauzy curtains floated on a light summer breeze. Dean felt like Frodo, waking up in Rivendell, at the end of Return of the King. Everything was kinda glowy, and he felt, well, really great.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He had definitely fallen asleep in Castiel’s car last night. It was cozy, and there had been soothing music… Who could blame him? He was tired. He was always tired.

His hand dropped to his chest, scratching over his sternum—his bare shirtless chest. Dean looked down. His torso stretched out before him until it disappeared under what was, without a doubt, the most obscenely fluffy, white comforter Dean had ever seen. On reflex, he lifted the comforter, shoulders relaxing at the sight of his hips encased in slightly oversized boxer briefs.

Not his. Okay...

A soft snore had him lifting his head, gazing around the large open air of the room. Seriously, was this some kind of presidential suite? Had Castiel taken him to some fancy hotel? The carpet was a plush, deep blue and the wall’s matched the cream of the ceiling. Bright white crown molding framed the room.

There were some furnishings, all a sturdy looking wood in a deep black cherry color: dresser, desk, two nightstands and off to the side of the bed was a large, comfortable looking, brocade wingback chair. Ensconced, in said chair, was Castiel. His body hunched over on itself: chin pressed to his chest, shoulders curled, legs splayed—as if he had collapsed there and passed out immediately. He was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday.

Castiel gave another soft snore, his head rolling slightly as his chest rose and fell, harshly. Dean smiled. He was kind of adorable, especially now all scrunched up in the chair, obviously uncomfortable. Something big and warm expanded in Dean’s stomach. Here he was, clean, unbound, redressed in soft cotton boxer-briefs, and tucked in Castiel’s bed while the man, himself, had opted to sleep in a chair.

Respect, boundaries, aftercare: things that had been missing from Dean’s life for far too long.

The large double doors on the far side of the room opened soundlessly, drawing Dean’s attention from Castiel’s sleeping form. A young woman, demurely dressed in all black, entered pushing a silver butlers cart. If she was surprised by Dean’s presence she doesn’t show it. She pushed the cart up next to Castiel on quiet wheels.

With practiced ease, she removed the large silver dome from the top shelf and set it quietly on the second shelf of the cart; the platter revealed a mouth watering array of breakfast foods. She set out two coffee cups, and, with a small flourish, she added a generous helping of golden honey to one cup.

Raising her eyes, she arched a brow at Dean, who—honestly—wasn’t even sure he was breathing as he watched her move, let alone remembered how he took his coffee.  A small, mischievous smile spread on her lips as she glanced between Dean and Castiel. A ‘watch this’ expression grew on her smooth features. She lifted a sleek metal kraft and began to pour a dark ambrosia liquid into the same cup. Her eyes flicked to Castiel, and Dean followed her gaze.

As the maid set the first cup down, swirling a small spoon to mix the honey, the smell of coffee filled the room. Castiel moved, a full body flinch, followed by an aborted snore. Eyes closed, he leaned forward, mouth going slack. He breathed in, deeply, and stretched. His body uncoiled like a great cat—graceful, powerful, but still oddly lazy. He groaned, settling back in the chair and finally blinking one brilliantly blue eye open. Dean hid a small snicker behind his hand.

“Andrea.”

Holy fuck. That voice. Dean shivered, his body heating. He bunched the covers more firmly over his hips as his morning chub made a valiant surge to full morning wood. Dean found that his… appreciation for Castiel’s low voice had bloomed into a full blown kink. And Cas’ groggy, sleepy, morning voice… Well, that should be criminal.

“Master Novak.” Andrea responded, holding out the cup for Castiel. He took it, his eyes slipping closed, again. Bringing the cup under his nose, he just breathed for a few moments.

Dean’s frowned at the maid, Andrea. He couldn’t help it. He didn't like hearing her call Castiel Master, and he didn’t really want to think too much about the implications of those feelings. He just knew that it’s wrong, and he hated it.

“And for you?” She turned her gaze to Dean.

Castiel surged up from his slouched position, spilling hot coffee over his hand.

“Dean…” He hissed, shaking the droplets from his fingers. “That will be all Andrea, thank you.” Castiel dismissed the maid without even glancing at her, and his eyes focused on Dean.

Dean couldn’t help but smile under the attention, watching the maid leave with a sense of quiet satisfaction before turning towards Castiel.

The man moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the coffee cup held in one hand. He took a few sips, sighing.

“Dean, how are you feeling?”

Dean shifted among the multiple pillows and overstuffed comforter, sitting up straight. His stomach growled loudly before he could reply. Castiel laughed, reaching out and pulling the cart towards him. He bit his bottom lip, fingers hovering over the offerings. With great concentration, he selected a sausage link and brought it to Dean’s lips, his eyebrows arching in challenge.

Dean leaned forward, parting his lips. He licked the underside of the sausage before drawing it into his mouth and taking a bite. The way Castiel’s pupils dilated sent a thrill down Dean’s spine. His arousal pooled, hot and demanding, between his legs.

Castiel grinned, popping the remaining piece into his own mouth. “Still feeling playful, hum?”

Dean smiled. Playful was a good way to put how he felt. He felt happy,  watching Castiel wake up was a treat he will savor forever. The image of a great cat—a dangerous predator, graceful and powerful—really fit Castiel. It made him smile. Being in this big bed with this rumpled, handsome man, feeding him savory sausage links was something he wouldn’t soon forget.

Castiel held out a sliver of pineapple, and Dean leaned forward to take it into his mouth. Castiel watched him with tired eyes and stooped shoulders; he yawned large, showing off his beautiful teeth and the depth of his mouth. Dean blushed, dropping his eyes. The image of a lazy ruffled fur panther crossed his mind.

“We need to talk about last night.” Castiel said, softly. He placed his coffee down and made Dean a plate of food, holding it out for him.

“Yeah… uh, yes.” Dean responded slowly, setting the offered plate on his lap. Of course Castiel would want to talk about last night. Or more specifically, the big fat nothing that happened last night. Dean felt a prick of fear begin to form in the pit of his stomach. He’d really messed up this time. It was one thing to be a bratty sub, but it was another thing completely to lead a person on and then fall asleep on them. Dean honestly had no idea why Castiel hadn’t woken him up and taken what Dean had been offering all night long. He picked at the food on his plate, his hunger morphing into distress more quickly than he’d like.

“First, I’d like to say thank you.” Castiel looked up at Dean, a smile slowly spreading over his features. “Yesterday was... “ He stopped, one of his hands made a small motion in the air and sighed roughly. “It was better than I could have imagined. I can’t even find the words that I’m looking for.”

“What?” Dean stammered, cutting across Castiel. “But.. I- I fell asleep. We didn’t-we didn’t even do anything. I… Wow. This was not how I saw this conversation going.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face, sitting back against the pillows.

“I don’t know what you expected, Dean, and maybe that’s part of the problem. But for me at least, I’ve already told you that this is my lifestyle. You giving me control of your body last night, following my rules so well… Even when you teased me… You’re so playful, your responses so pure. You gave yourself to me without question—trusted me with who you are, with your lively hood. It was... heady.” Castiel sucked in a deep breath, his eyes unfocused for a moment, and he shifted on the edge of the bed.

Clearing his throat, he continued on. “You trusted me enough to get into my car and then felt safe enough to fall asleep in my presence. You came to my home.” Castiel licked his lips, eyes wide while leaning forward, as if he still didn’t believe that Dean was really there. “Dean, that means so much to me, it fulfills me in ways you can’t imagine. I... I need it- in my life, Dean. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, but then shook his head. “Cas… I- I’m just me. I’m a nobody. Really, I mean…” He had no idea what he was saying. Submitting to Castiel was so easy, he had never even thought twice about doing what the other man requested of him. But now, Castiel was making it sound like what he had done was special—like Castiel didn’t deserve Dean’s compliance. He didn’t understand.

“Dean.” Castiel said his name with constrained anger. “You… You are not nobody. My god, who told you that. You’re spectacular. You are- Jesus, Dean, you have no idea.” Castiel lifted the untouched plate off Dean’s lap and set it next to his cup on the nightstand. He took both of Dean’s hands in his.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered softly. Dean watched as Castiel took a breath and locked his blue gaze on Dean’s. It took all his willpower to not lower his eyes. “I want you, like I’ve never wanted anyone before. I want you to be mine, my full time submissive.”

Dean felt a full blown panic attack threaten to choke him. His body erupted in sweat as he tried to pull his hands from Castiel’s grip. His lips parted, and he swore it was absolutely _not_ him making that deflating balloon sound. Flashes of chains, basements, and darkness assaulted him. Every horror story he’d ever heard crawled out of the recesses of his mind and blinded his eyes.

“Shit- shit. Ok, Dean. It’s ok; it’s ok.” Castiel climbed up the bed, pushing Dean to his side and curling around him. Dean tried to breathe, but he couldn’t get passed how tightly his throat was constricting in his panic. He had to go. He had to get out of here; he wouldn’t be one of the people in the stories he’d heard: people kept—torn from their families—in basements, hoods and rubber, covered in lube, left on racks and benches for hours, days. Salves.

Castiel was wrapped around him, strong and warm. He was holding Dean tightly, like one would do with frightened pet in a thunderstorm. Soft words reached his ears, mumbled praise and soothing remarks, all spoken in Castiel’s calm rumble. Dean felt his shoulders relaxing. His vision cleared, thoughts slowing.

“Shhh, Dean. Please, let me explain.” Castiel stroked through his hair, letting him freak out and wheeze himself into silence, while holding him in strong arms. Dean drew a slow breath, finding his voice. He didn’t want to believe that Cas was the type. “I can guarantee, whatever you are thinking is not what I am offering.”

“You want to own me. To lock me up… keep me in your basement. Isn’t that the offer, Cas?”

Castiel actually chuckled. Dean rolled his shoulders, pushing away from the other man. Sitting up in the bed, his eyes narrowed, and he grimaced at Castiel.

“I like that nickname; I would guess my full name is a bit of a mouthful.” Castiel sat up, a smile tilting his mouth, his hair even more rumpled. “To clear your assumption, yes and no.”

Castiel paused, his eyes somber as he studied Dean’s face.

“Yes, Dean, I want to own you. Yes, I would love to lock you up, but I can guarantee that you’ll have agreed, maybe even begged for me, to do so should that time come.” Castiel’s eyes sparked with desire as his hands again searched out Dean’s, “I want you to follow my rules. I need you to. I need you to give your life over to me. Maybe there is something wrong with me, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there is, and I know that I feel like everything is better when you are here, submitting to me.” Castiel drew a soft breath, his back straightening and his words becoming firm.

“I can promise you, Dean, that in return I will provide for you. I will treasure you. I will work to earn your submission in every way you see fit to give it to me. I will ensure you’re safe and cared for—loved… eventually. If- if that’s what you want.”

Dean’s palms were sweating in Castiel’s grip. The other man didn’t seem to mind as his thumb kept stroking soothing little swipes back and forth over Dean’s knuckles. He took a deep breath. Castiel’s presence was calming, soothing, and he felt himself relax more.

“Kinda sounds like you’re asking me to marry you, Cas.” Dean whispered, dropping his eyes, and a blush burned its way across his face.

Castiel laughed, his hand squeezing Dean’s. “Well, not yet, at least.”

Dean looked up in time to see Castiel give the most adorable, over exaggerated wink, the gums of his teeth showing as he nodded his head forward.

Dean laughed, unable to channel his nervousness in any other way. He was flattered and, honestly, a bit shocked. He couldn’t get his thoughts organized enough to say anything; luckily, he didn’t have to. Cas dropped his hand and ran his fingers through his own hair, sighing roughly.

“Look, I know it’s scary. And I know that I’m talking about this too soon. We barely know one another, but I would hate myself if I let you leave and didn’t say… something. Dean, you could be so great. You have all the qualities and instincts of a full time submissive. When you let go, when you really give yourself to me,” Castiel shook his head, “We could be great together.” He reached up and touched Dean’s cheek with gentle fingers. “I feel like I’ve been looking for you for my entire life. I know I can make you happy Dean. Have I not made you happy, thus far?”

“Yes.” Dean rasped. He couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. Sure, he’d been looking for a Dom—something serious, someone to spend his days _and_ nights with, someone who didn’t want to hide him or fit him in when it was convenient. He wanted someone to hold him and scold him and make his bad days better with firm hands and kind words.

“Good, I want to continue to make you happy, Dean. To please you. Taking care of you last night, unbinding you in your sleep… I-well,” Castiel chuckled softly, sitting up. He dropped his legs over the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. It was the first time he’d turned his back to Dean since they woke up, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not seeing Castiel’s face. His voice was muffled by his hands when he spoke again. “You’re so beautiful. I just- I couldn’t imagine someone other than me touching you. The way your skin looked, my thin red lines criss-crossing over your flesh. God, Dean.” Castiel turned at the waist to look at Dean. His eyes, wide and wild, flashed with a desire that made Dean feel small.

“It’s too much,” Castiel said breathlessly, obviously finding something in Dean’s expression he wasn’t aware he was projecting. Castiel’s own expression soured, brows dipping and lips thinning. Dean didn't want that. He didn’t want Cas to think he was being rejected, because he was not. He was definitely not.

“No, Cas- it’s just...” Dean sighed. “I want all that stuff too, but, we don’t even know each other.”

He was not going to make that mistake again. He wouldn’t go through all the pain and mental anguish only to end up back where he started, but more battered—more bruised than ever before. Because, he decided as he looked at Castiel, Hell, the man could break him. With his soft hands and dark voice, he could ruin Dean. And Dean would let him. He would let Cas in. Let those blue eyes see right into his soul, right into his deepest darkest desires, because he liked Castiel. He really did, maybe too much. Shit, the guy drove a vintage car, for fucks sake.

And if Castiel had the power to ruin him, which Dean was sure he did, then he had to be extra careful. Because, never again.

Dean had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even realized that Castiel was nodding along. His brows lifted so high that little wrinkles formed along his forehead, lips caught somewhere between pursed and parted, eyes wide and shining. Dean wanted to hide from their perceptive gaze. Castiel looked like hope incarnate. His entire body seemed to be frozen on the edge of some great precipice, hovering on Dean’s each and every word, just waiting for the fall or the pull to safety. Dean struggled, he hadn’t had this kind of effect on someone's life for almost a decade now—not since Sammy went off to college.

“Can you, I don’t know… maybe take me to dinner or something, first?” Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder. “I’m not saying no, Cas. Let’s just take it slow. I’ve got… some shit... in my past. And, I’m not ready to dig that out yet. But I also don’t want to go through it again. So, let’s just take it slow, yeah?”

The smile that split Castiel’s face washed over Dean like the sunrise. It was beautiful and powerful; but most of all, it was warm. It wrapped around Dean, and he wanted to stretch out under it’s light and never leave.

“Yes.” Castiel breathed, fluidly moving to his knees next to Dean on the bed. His bright blue eyes searched Dean’s face, and he spoke, slowly leaning forward. “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

“I’d really like you to kiss me, Sir.” Dean purred, looking up at Castiel through his eyelashes. He couldn’t help it, after everything Castiel said so far this morning, Dean felt weird, giddy, somber, light, and heavy all at once. He felt buoyant but also sinking under the weight of Castiel’s promises.

“Dean.” Castiel growled as he tackled Dean down onto the bed—his solid weight landing on Dean’s chest, pushing the air out of his lungs in a yelp.

The other man hovered, coffee scented breath huffing over Dean’s mouth. Clear blue eyes, framed by dark lashes, focused on Dean. He felt trapped by that gaze, safe under the surprising weight of Castiel’s body.

Dean treasured the warmth of Castiel’s mouth over his, just out of reach, lips a sigh away from touching. Each breath they shared sent arousal coiling tightly in Dean’s stomach. He blinked and, just like that, the spell they were under broke. Castiel crashed their mouths together. Soft lips mapped his own, pressing warmth along the seam. Castiel took his time, learning Dean’s mouth with a slow soft flutter of kisses. His breath hitched and, softly, he moaned against Dean’s pursed lips. The sound was so wrecked, so lost and desperate, that Dean gasped into it. Castiel took the opportunity to lick into Dean’s mouth, tongue warm, demanding, and perfect.

Castiel pressed his body down, the long lines of his form covering Dean from chest to toes. His hands speared through Dean’s hair, curling in the strands, tugging, and sending a pleasure pain down Dean’s spine. It was electric how their bodies moved together, fit together. Castiel’s mouth sealed over his; their tongues danced, flavors mixing and Dean couldn’t breath. His heart thudded against his ribcage so hard he was sure Castiel could feel its erratic beat.

The other man pulled back just slightly, and Dean panted, gasping in air. His lips tingled, mouth slick with Castiel’s flavor. The other man moved fluidly, mouth never leaving Dean’s skin, to nip and lick over Dean’s jaw—moaning his name over and over again. It was music to Dean’s ears. This was pure passion, there was nothing dominant or submissive about how badly they wanted each other right now. Dean’s body arched and Castiel choked as he pressed his hips down to meet Dean’s.

His hands finally got into the action, gripping the silky fabric of Castiel’s waistcoat as he nipped at Dean’s earlobe. The body over his was strong. Muscles slid and bunched under two layers of fabric, and Dean craved to see the skin Castiel was hiding.

“Fuck.” Dean cursed, turning his head to give the other man more access. His hips rolled up, but there were just too many layers between them. “Please, please,” He begged dropping his hands to tug at the sheets and blankets. It took a few more breathless whimpers before Castiel realized what was happening. Pulling his mouth away from Dean’s collarbone, he jumped into action so quickly Dean almost laughed.

The blankets were torn away, shoved towards the foot of the bed, and Castiel repositioned himself over Dean’s thighs. The loose boxer briefs Dean was wearing were tented obscenely, and Castiel couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.

“I’ve gone for my tests.” He said, hoarsely, finally dragging his gaze from Dean’s hips. “I’m just waiting for the results.” He licked his lips, eyes dropping to Dean’s clothed erection again. His own slacks bulged around his hips and he palmed himself, adjusting his erection before stretching back out over Dean’s body again. Castiel pressed warm kisses over his pectorals, up to his collarbone. Dean reclined back into the softness of the bed.

“This will have to do for now.” Castiel said softly against Dean’s cheek as he lined their hips up. The friction was a wonderful agony as he started to move. Dean gripped the back of Castiel’s shirt, spreading his legs wide as the other man pressed against him. It felt amazing. Castiel's mouth claimed his again, his tongue slipping and fucking past Dean’s lips; Castiel was owning him from the inside out in the way that Dean was sure he would with his cock.

Each roll was slow, the pressure precise; the heat and friction, the mouth on his, and the husky words Castiel whispered into his flesh were all too much and before Dean realized, he was arching his back. Eyes squeezed closed, he spilled, hot and sharp, in the borrowed underwear.

Castiel lifted his torso up to look at the wet stain spreading between them. “Fuck, fuck.” His hips dropped and rolled hard. His head dipped and his mouth fell to gasp within the crook of Dean’s neck. “So hot. Fuck, Dean.”

Dean could tell he was close by how his shoulder bunched and the desperate way he ground down, rotating his hips in aborted little circles against Dean’s softening cock. Dean bit his lip. He wanted to touch, to stroke Castiel to completion, but they hadn’t talked about that. They hadn’t talked about this either, but fuck. Dean lifted one of his legs, giving Castiel better access to his apex, and pulled together the last of his nerves.

“Are you going to cum for me, Sir?” Dean breathed, and Castiel's hips faltered. “Are you going to cover your boy in his Sir’s cum?”

Castiel let out a satisfying noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. His head snapped up, eyes wide, lips flush and parted. He stared down at Dean as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

Dean licked his lips, curling his raised leg around Castiel's hips. “I want it; I want to be covered in your cum. I want you to fill me with it until I leak. Mess me up, Sir. Make me your dirty boy.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Castiel gasped, one hand flying to Dean’s hip, the other knotting tightly in Dean’s hair, pulling. His neck bowed under the strength of those arms, as Castiel came. The hand on Dean’s hip tightened, and he knew there will be a livid bruise there later.

None of that mattered, though; Castiel was glorious as he came. His lips pulled back. His teeth clenched and he _growled,_ chest vibrating. His hips pressed down hard, jerking as his cock flexed with each spurt he released into his pants.

Dean could feel it, feel the length of him pressed along his perineum—each flex, each spurt. It was hot and strong and Dean couldn’t wait to feel it inside of him.

Castiel’s shoulders shook and he dropped onto Dean's chest, gathering him up in his arms and kissing along his collarbone. Dean laid still, his body humming with his release, bearing Castiel’s weight as the other man kissed and licked over any skin he could reach. Honestly, it was fucking nice to be held and nuzzled after an orgasm. His hands stroked up and down Castiel's back. It was nice, it was all nice.

“You have a very naughty mouth.” Castiel finally managed. Lifting his head, he squinted at Dean until they both broke out in a fit of laughter.

“Let me get us cleaned up. Eat something, I’ll be right back.” Castiel placed a soft kiss to Dean’s nose—which ok, that was super cute, and he would never admit how much he liked it—before sliding from the bed.

Dean belly laughed as Castiel took two steps and then lifted his right leg, giving it a rough shake. He grimaced, reaching down to pluck the soaked fabrics from his hip. He made a disgruntled noise before shuffling through an adjoining door.

Dean was through half a Belgium waffle—with chocolate sauce, strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate chips—by the time Castiel got back. He had a washcloth, a small towel, and a bundle of clothes in his arms. He had also changed into a loose fitting pair of grey sleep pants and a long sleeved, black Henley. It was the most fitted outfit Dean had seen him in, and his body did not disappoint.

Dean was staring and hadn’t noticed, not until Castiel asked with a sly grin: “See something you like?”

He realized he had his fork at a full stop, halfway between his plate and his open mouth. Instead of answering, he shoved the food into his mouth and let it budge his cheeks out.

“Such a brat.” Castiel commented fondly. He dropped the clothes on the bed and pushed the cart out of Dean’s reach.

“Hey…” He complained, gesturing with his chocolate coated fork.

“You can have more once you’re cleaned up.”

True to his word, Castiel was diligent, almost clinical, about the way he cleaned Dean. Stripping him down and running the warm washcloth over his hips, he tipped Dean onto his back and pulled a tube of ointment out of his pants pocket. Castiel applied a liberal amount to the reddened area between his cheeks and around the base of his cock. Then, once Dean was dressed in the softest pair of lounge pants he’s ever felt and a cotton t-shirt, Castiel let him back at the tray again.

It was not until he was halfway through his second cup of coffee, snuggled up under Castiel's arm and tucked back in the bed, that his phone rang. Dean reached for it, grimacing as ‘ALFIE’ flashed across the screen in big angry letters.

“Uh, Hey.”

“You had better be dead!” Alfie screeched on the other end of the line. “I’m outside you fuck! Do you know what time it is?!”

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear; the time flashed as the screen light blinked on. He groaned, “It’s a quarter-past-eleven.”

“Yes, it's a fucking quarter-past-eleven! What time were you supposed to call me?! You fucking fuck!” Alfie raged. “Get outside right now! I fucking swear…I’m going to murder Castiel!”

“Alfie, calm down. I’m fine, really.” Dean tried to soothe his friend, to no avail.

“Tell Castiel to leave his fucking phone on! You’re both dead to me. DEAD!” Alfie squealed. “I’ve got a hangover.” He moaned into the line dramatically. “I drove forty-five minutes to come get you.” He simmered.

Cautiously, Castiel slipped the phone from Dean’s fingers. There was a quiet conversation—to which, though they were sitting right next to one another, Dean didn’t get much more than ‘Alfie’ and ‘Absolutely. Name your terms.’ Which, honestly, fuck no.

Castiel handed the phone back and smiled at Dean’s glowering face. “Alfie, what the fuck man?”

Considerably calmer, almost chipper, “Listen, don’t even start with me. I’m here; I’m here to rescue you! Not like I’d be able to do anything more then call the police, but I came didn’t I?”

Dean blushed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

“Plus, don’t you have, like, work or something today? Don’t you need to be across town getting ready to do, like, poor people stuff?”

“Oh, fuck you, bro.” Dean snarked, but Alfie just laughed. They’d been friends too long for either of their words to have any bite. “I’ve gotta be in at noon.”

“Better hurry, then. You’re already going to be late.”

“Yeah, thanks Alf. I’ll be right down.”

Dean ended the call and turned his attention to Castiel. “You better not be paying him for me, I’m not a fucking whore, man. You can’t just fucking buy me.”

Castiel’s eyes grew wide, a frown falling over his lips. “I would never even dream of it, Dean. Even if I tried, you’re worth more to me then I could ever amass.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just don't, ok. I don't care about your fucking money.” Dean slipped from the bed and Castiel followed him.

“Dean…” Castiel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him around. “Listen to me when I say you have nothing to worry about. I’d never do that. I respect you far too much to debase you and whatever it is that we are starting here. I can’t promise that I won't get Samandriel a small gift for introducing us, but that is a completely different matter altogether.” Switching tracks faster than Dean could keep up with, Castiel asked, “Where are you going today?”

“I’ve got work. Where are my clothes?” Dean frowned looking around the room.

“I’ve sent them to the laundry. They should be back by tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t envision you having to leave so soon as it’s Saturday.” Castiel looked at a complete loss.

“It’s ok. Can I borrow these for now? Just gives me an excuse to contact you quicker this time.” Dean smirked.

Castiel’s face hardened. His shoulders stiffened. “I expect you to contact me frequently, Dean. When you get home, tonight, for starters. Are you at the bar today?” Castiel asked as he led Dean out of the bedroom and through the house.

“Nah,” He responded, distractedly taking in the grandeur of mansion Castiel lives in. It was all high ceilings, and big windows. “I’m at the Jiffy Lube till eight, then I'm at the bar—nine till close.”

They made it to the front door. Dean’s boots were lined up neatly against the wall on a small gray tray. The tray looked like it didn't belong on the floor. Instead, it seemed as if someone didn’t want Dean’s dirty boots scuffing up the polish. He frowned at them.

“You work two jobs?” Castiel asked. “Why?”

“Gotta eat.” Dean remarked with a shrug. “LA ain't for the faint of heart.”

There was a loud horn honk from outside. Dean slipped into his boots and stood awkwardly on the threshold. “SO… I guess…”

“I’ll talk to you tonight. I have your number, now. I will be in touch. I want to see you again. Soon.” Castiel stepped forward, cupping the back of Dean’s neck, and he drew Dean into a firm kiss. “Text or call me when you get off tonight. I want out hear about your day.”

Dean blushed. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

Castiel pulled open the large door and Dean stepped out into the morning sunlight.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Think about my offer, won’t you?”

Dean stumbled a step, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, Cas. Of course.” He wondered if he’d be able to think about anything else.

“Dean.”

Dean looked up, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah… Cas….?”

“How do you feel about mini-golf?”

Dean’s smile spread slowly, “I like it.”

“Great, me too.” Castiel returned, mirroring his grin. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, soon…” Dean responded, his feet carrying him backwards, down the stone path towards Alfie’s car.

 _Soon,_ Dean thinks, _is not soon enough_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooooo. There we go. 
> 
> That was a very long fic, right? lol
> 
> Thanks for making it all the way to the bottom. I hope that after all the time we've just spent together you could take a moment and write a comment. It would really mean a lot to me. 
> 
> In case you missed it or don't want to go all the way back up here are a few links to the car Cas drives:  
> [C1 1961](http://www.vettefacts.com/images/1961-black-convertible-corvette.jpg) [ C1 view 2](http://car-from-uk.com/ebay/carphotos/full/ebay713660.jpg)
> 
> Also here are some examples of the type of body bondage Cas put Dean in, its not exact but it's close, just so you could have an idea: (NSFW)  
>  [Rope one Front](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/82/15/8f/82158ff91afca5fa9dc94962a810845b.jpg)  
> [Rope 2 Front](http://calendar.thealtlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/IMG_6015.png)  
> [Rope 2 Back](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/cf/9c/94/cf9c940a8e8e74d6c9aa9f421e42de49.jpg)
> 
> Lastly, for those of you who are wondering, Cas's belt is like a power chord or [survival bracelet](http://www.toughbands.com/assets/images/FISHTAIL%20SURVIVAL%20BRACELETS/IMG_0386.JPG) but made with fine silk rope. Cas's belt was woven like [ this](http://www.survivalright.com/images/paracord-survival-bracelet-main.jpg)
> 
> So I am planning more of this AU, but after getting this monster out I need a little break. As always if you see a tag i missed or ...idk something, let me know.
> 
> **Please, do leave a comment.** (obviously I'm not above begging) Comments activate my Praise Kink!
> 
> Also come say hi on [Tumblr](https://hartlessfiction.tumblr.com/) I'd really like that.


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